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Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you.

And though they are with you, they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,

Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite.

And He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hands be for happiness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies,

So He loves the bow that is stable.


Priya Joyce said…
even i like this...
I remember writing tis for the school notice board...never to be put up :P gt lost in the bundle of charts
Anonymous said…
What every kid wishes to say to his parents...

Really like the poem - thanks for sharing...
Ria said…
really like this one!!
Tulika said…
Gibran.. !!
Man..! The VISION, he has it!

Loved it. :)
nice poem but some of the thoughts are ARGUABLE.. and not quite right..
its all a process of growing up.. when you become parents , you will be listening to the same thing you saying to your parents ..

End of the day parents have lived there life and have tons of experience.. they know if you touch fire you will get burnt.. thats why they stop the child .. But the child will never learn till they touch it and get burnt...

but neverthless a nice poem .. loved it .. I said that to my parents still do :)
Thousif Raza said…
so simple words, yet impacts in a way, you can never imagine, takes you to another world...... :)

and blog par kyun nahi aayi???? ;) hope to see you soon....

xams hain isliye cant come much often, mujhe bhoool mat jana like you always do :)

take care and keep writing......
Phoenix said…
beautiful words :)

back here after ages and i simply love ur blog template.. its smashing! :)
How do we know said…
this is one of my favorite pieces.
ANWESA said…
@Dear All,
Thanks a lot ! Your comments mean a lot to me. Keep coming !

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I cannot remember my mother,
only sometime in the midst of my play
a tune seems to hover over my playthings,
the tune of some song that she used to
hum while rocking my cradle.

I cannot remember my mother
but when in the early autumn morning
the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air,
the scent of the morning service in the
temple comes to me as the scent of my mother.

I cannot remember my mother
only when from bedroom window
I send my eyes into the blue of the distant sky,
I feel that the stillness of my mother's gaze on my face
has spread all over the sky.

~Rabindranath Tagore
Note : This was one of  the earliest poems I read,loved and cherished.


Concealed by dark clouds
You keep shining.
Bright streaks of light
Dazzle me.
Enchant me.
And keep me waiting..
Waiting for you.

Amidst Soul-lessness

There is smoke somewhere. 
I cannot seem to figure out where. 
The lights are here, the music is here.
Has it been home here ?
Perhaps. Maybe when it did not rain.
Or maybe when it rained and it did not matter.
Maybe when I walked alone, smiling to myself. 
Or maybe when I realized I was okay.
Had it been always like this ?

Not really. 
Things clicked, took effort and blood. 
Did I do it ? Or the beasts did ? Maybe we both together,
Played this game. 
Amidst soulful solitude, it was love. 
Maybe appreciation.
Another journey, another dry spell. 
Will it ever be home again ? 

P.S. : Penned at Candies, Bandra on 11th January 2017